The Strength Anomaly
by Scopper
Summary: HIATUS DUE TO GRADES. Response to DZ2's 100% Challenge: Harry, a humorous and intelligent boy is introduced to the world of magic at the tender age of 11. Apparently, he's a wizard... a strong wizard. Scratch that, an unbelievably strong wizard. Almost god-like, even... RW bashing. OOC characters. T because I'm paranoid. First posted fic! :)
1. Chapter 1: Discovering Magic

**A/N This is my first fic :P ****Hope you enjoy! :) Please leave a review on the way out. **

**Scopper's response to DZ2's '100%' Challenge**

**Plot: **Witches and wizards only ever use a small portion of their magic, even for their most-powerful spells, so the question is: what could someone do when they tap into the full 100% power?

**Rules: **Grey, Dark or Evil Harry _**Maybe**_

When Harry's magic is unlocked to its full power is up to the reader

Harry uses his new powers for his own benefit

Harry can't allow anyone to gain control of his power

All pairings are welcome

If Harry unlocks the power before Hogwarts, he can't go to Gryffindor

There must be one other figure of magic - at least - who has done this before Harry EXCEPT Dumbledore

Sirius is eventually freed and becomes Harry's guardian and ally

**Guidelines: **Harry's power grows and grows over time until he eventually reaches 100% _**Accepted**_

Crossover references of power/skills are part of Harry's new arsenal

Harry doesn't go to Hogwarts, but a school for others who have the potential to reach 100%

Master of Death Harry

Immortal Harry _**Eventually**_

Tom and the Death Eaters help Harry become a new Dark Lord _**Probably not**_

Slash

Harry's power has a drawback

**Forbidden: **Light Harry

Weak Harry

Our hero trying to rid himself of his power

Dumbledore gaining/controlling Harry

If the story starts before Hogwarts, Harry cannot go to Gryffindor

**Other than that, it's up to you and, again, it doesn't have to be a serious story: it's meant to be fun and creative, just like all Fan Fiction, really;**

**The Strength Anomaly**

Strange things had always happened around Harry Potter. Queer, his aunt and uncle had said. Unnatural. Freakish. It wasn't that Harry had specifically wanted the things to happen… they just did. If Harry was honest with himself, he wasn't sure he liked it.

For one, the Dursleys always beat and starved him when they heard of his 'atrocious' acts of 'stupidity'. Teleporting to a rooftop to escape Dudley's gang of bullies certainly wasn't worth weeks upon weeks eating only refried, canned beans. Turning a teacher's hair blue certainly wasn't worth ten lashings as well as a week in a dark, empty room.

He found it annoying that although these things happened at the most convenient times, they certainly didn't stop retribution. Convenient only when unneeded; that was Harry's new mantra.

Funnily enough, his teacher had instantly began to display some kindness toward Harry- something that he'd never experienced before. And Dudley mostly left him alone nowadays- which was the human equivalent of a hug and a grin.

It was as if he could directly influence their minds, somehow. He'd immediately pushed the thought out of his head. Preposterous. His mind was wandering. In any case, if he could influence minds, why couldn't he force Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia to be kinder to him? Why could he force Dudley's gang to accept him? It was all a mystery to him.

It seemed like 10% of the time, he was able to achieve some actual success in his endeavors. If only he could reach 100%... now that would be heaven. Harry had wished for nothing more than to be accepted- the norm for most people in modern society. How exactly he'd achieve this when the Dursleys were constantly spreading rumors about his 'horrible tendencies' was beyond him.

It had been a miracle, really, that the local public school had accepted him. Perhaps they really cared, or perhaps the Dursleys had bribed the teachers so that Harry could be out of their sight for the majority of the day. Harry was guessing the latter.

And now here he was, staring blankly at the chalkboard, listening to a clearly biased red-faced obese teacher pronounce loudly the importance of binomial division. "Now… Harry Potter!" the teacher barked. "What is 19.5 times 19.5?"

Harry sighed. This man loved to catch his students off guard. "Mr. Andersen, first of all, that's not binomial division; I don't need to answer that question. Second of all, you're asking me to give you a tangible answer in 3 seconds to a multiplication problem; that's hardly fair. And third of all, the answer you're looking for is 380.25."

Mr. Andersen looked furious. "You think you're such a smart aleck, don't you! Detention!"

Harry smirked. He'd honestly been dying to flabbergast this teacher especially; he was the only one in his long chain of tutors he hadn't annoyed. Yet. It was a personal goal. He'd even managed to, ironically, annoy the cr*p out of the counselor who'd been trying to teach him the importance of suppressing annoyance.

Harry currently held the top spot for the most detentions in the school- something he was quite proud of. Funnily enough, he still managed to maintain a 5.0 GPA (he knew all of the material); it annoyed the cr*p out of all of his teachers.

Nobody could blame him, really; the school didn't offer a crossgrading program, and a child as intelligent as Harry wasn't being challenged by courses teaching the most elementary of topics.

It seemed counterintuitive for a child who wanted to be accepted to annoy the people who could accept him; but he figured that he'd always be a 'freak', what with the Dursleys' constant rumors. He might as well; he didn't have much left to lose.

Twirling his pencil absentmindedly, he waited for the tell-tale ringing of the bell, which would signal the end of the day. 10….9….8….7….6….5….4…

A loud voice suddenly rang through the intercom: "Harry James Potter, please report to the front office."

Harry sighed. He'd been looking forward to the sugar-induced tsunami of stampeding students barreling down the hallway. He picked himself up and reluctantly traipsed out the door.

He couldn't deny that he was interested. This was the most eventful thing that had happened the entire school year (he didn't count detentions eventful, they were the norm). What would they do now? Expel him? Certainly not; not when the London Times had named him the greatest asset to the school and 'the most brilliant 5th grader in all of London'.

He turned a corner and wrenched open the door to the office. He was greeted with a most peculiar sight.

A tall, dark-haired woman in the most peculiar of clothes stood in the doorway. She looked exactly like the portraits of the witches at the Salem Witch Trials, what with her tight bun, her emerald-green robes, and her curled hat. The only thing missing, really was a wart on her nose.

"I've been called?" Harry said uncertainly, quickly scanning the room. Funnily enough, nobody except the woman was present. Strange. Usually the secretary, Mrs. Tsume Yuki, would be bustling about. Usually the principal, Mr. DZ2, would be sitting behind his desk, faxing one thing or another.

But today, there was nothing in the room but a deep, eerie silence.

"Hello, Harry." the woman began. "I am Professor Minerva Mcgonagall."

Harry blinked. "That's nice. What does this have to do with me?"

The woman sniffed, slightly annoyed. Harry gave himself a mental pat on the back. 'Way to go, Harry! 2 seconds, and you've already annoyed a Professor!'

"I am here to explain to you that you've been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Harry gave her a funny look, then laughed. "Hilarious prank, really. I would've believed it, too. Your voice was so serious! Great costume, by the way."

Mcgonagall buried her face in her hands. All of the muggle borns or muggle-raised had the same reaction. "This isn't a prank, Harry. This is a serious invitation to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and wizardry."

This elicited even louder guwaffs from the boy. Mcgonagall sighed. "Incendio." she dictated, flicking her wand. The nearest plant instantly caught fire. Harry's laughter abruptly cut off.

"Ah. So you've but a motion-activated lighter under the plant. Clever, I grant you, but not nearly enough to fool me."

"Levicorpus!"

By some invisible force, Harry was thrown through the air; he landed upside down, suspended by his ankles.

"Ejector pad in the floor?" Harry asked, frowning. Mcgonagall sighed. "Of course not, Harry. This is magic."

Harry opened his mouth to interrupt, so Mcgonagall pressed forward. "Have you done anything… strange? Anything miraculous, even?"

"Now that you mention it… I have teleported to a rooftop, once. I've also turned my teacher's hair blue… that was hilarious!"

Mcgonagall nodded, satisfied. "That, Harry, is magic."

Harry nodded. He found himself inclined to believe the woman, as if a part of him already knew everything she said. It helped that Mcgonagall was tiring of the conversation and had sent a non-verbal Trust Me charm at the boy.

"Interesting… so you are offering me a position at your school?"

Mcgonagall nodded. Finally! They were getting somewhere. She regretted every instance she had to use the Trust Me charm, a potent spell on children; but it was clear that their conversation was getting nowhere.

"Yes, Harry. You will be a student at this school, where you will learn to control your abilities."

Minerva watched as Harry nodded, his eyes glazed slightly.

"I…" his eyes suddenly cleared. "I… I don't believe you!"

Mcgonagall watched, astonished, as Harry shook off the charm. A boy with barely any experience with magic shaking off a charm more potent than the Imperius curse? Unheard of!

"You're… you're doing something, something to make me believe you. And I don't!" Harry continued, his voice sharp. "Using compulsion medicines on a mere child? Have you no shame?!"

Mcgonagall had the morality to look guilty. "Harry… you must understand, our conversation was getting nowhere. But you must understand, child: you are a wizard. There is a part of you, I know, that is accepting every word you say. Trust yourself, Harry."

The boy looked up for a moment. "You know…" he began slowly. "As much as I want to, I still don't believe you. The mere idea is preposterous! Why are we even having this conversation? This is a waste of both of our time."

He turned and stalked out of the room, furious. Furious at what, he had no idea; though if he was honest, himself. An internal conflict raged. His rational, logical side scoffed and spat at the idea, ridiculing himself for even considering it a possibility. His other, more headstrong side strongly affirmed it as the truth. It was driving him crazy.

A powerful tug sent him flying back into the room.

"I'm not done with you yet, Mr. Potter!" Professor Mcgonagall muttered. Harry glared. "Okay, let's say I… I accept that perhaps, maybe, such a school exists. What now?" Minerva gave a tired grin. "Well, Mr. Potter, you'll go buy your books in Diagon Alley, a magical shopping center."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Alright. I'll believe you if you show me to this… Diagon Alley… and if I can clearly discern its magical properties."

"Gladly, Mr. Potter. Gladly."

Mcgonagall pressed a bony hand on Harry's shoulder and willed them both to disapparate.

They appeared with a loud CRACK! in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron. Harry stared, wide-eyed, at his surroundings, as if taking in everything; albeit at a snail's pace.

"You- you just… you just teleported!"

"Apparated, Mr. Potter. There IS a difference, believe it or not. No matter. Follow me."

The woman guided Harry through the pub, neatly ignoring the stares of almost everybody in the room. The two soon found themselves in the back courtyard. Harry watched in a self-induced daze as Professor Mcgonagall tapped a strange sequence into the brick wall.

The entire thing caved inward; brick rotated and collapsed to form a large archway. Harry didn't bat an eye. He'd just witnessed teleportation; this strange unfolding could hardly shock him now.

What did shock him, though, was the sheer amount of peculiarly dressed people bustling about colorful shops. "What- what the h*ll?"

Mcgonagall smiled a dry smile. "Do you believe me now, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shook his head. "No, not completely. For all I know, I could be insane, and this could all be a figment of my imagination."

Mcgonagall sighed again. "I suppose. But is your imagination this wild?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure. Could be. I once dreamt about flying, pink zebras, did you know?"

It took another forty minutes to assure Harry that no, he wasn't dreaming or insane- and only then he'd only asserted that 62% of him maybe, partially believed his eyes. Even Harry couldn't possibly dream of the crazy methods of transportation. He found himself idly wondering why students didn't simply Floo to Hogwarts instead of taking an overly complicated, expensive train system. When he asked Mcgonagall, she only shrugged. "It makes a good first impression."

"Nice to know that's where the wizarding world's taxpayer dollars go to…" Harry smirked, sarcastic.

"Anyhow, Mr. Potter…" Mcgonagall continued. "You've bought your books and your owl, haven't you?"

Harry nodded and displayed a large, snowy owl sitting upon a stack of large, heavy books. "Good. Good. Now, we shall get your wand."

"Are you serious? You use wands?"

Mcgonagall narrowed her eyes. "Is there a problem, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, actually. I would've thought maybe staffs would be the norm. Like Gandalf."

To his enormous surprise, Mcgonagall nodded. "Only Gandalf can use such a weapon of pure power. It channels straight from a wizard's magical core, making it extremely dangerous…"

Harry didn't catch the rest of her sentence. "Are you serious? Gandalf? He exists?!"

Mcgonagall looked at him funnily. "Of course."

"That's amazing! Is he still alive?"

"No. He died fighting a fire dragon named Balrog."

Harry shook his head in wonderment. So LOTR really WAS based off of the wizarding world! He'd had a sneaking suspicion…

The two turned a corner and made their way down a dingy avenue and into a small shop. 'Olivanders' was proudly emblazoned in bold, red letters on a sign near the doorway.

"Ah, hello there!"

Harry looked up to see an elf-like man slowly climb his way down a needlessly tall ladder.

"Hello. You're Ollivander, I take it?"

The man nodded.

"And you are Harry Potter. I still remember the day when I first sold your mother her first wand… ah, that was a lifetime ago…" he snapped out of his reverie. "Anyhow, what can I help you with, Mr. Potter?"

"I need a staff- preferably a shorter one. A wand would be nice, too."

Ollivander's face suddenly paled. "A- a staff?" he whispered, his eyes bulging. Mcgonagall shot Harry an annoyed look.

"By asking for a staff, you're not only subjecting yourself to a great deal of danger, you're also asserting that you are just as powerful as Gandalf, the last staff-bearer!" she whispered, her voice frantic. Harry shrugged.

"I honestly couldn't care less. A staff would be cool to have. Do you have any?"

Ollivander wiped his brow. "No; no, of course not! A staff takes months to make, using the most expensive of materials!"

Harry shrugged. "Meh. A wand will do, then."

"That's certainly more… rational."

Turning, Ollivander produced a large, oak box. He slid off the cover; a small, milk-white baton lay within.

"Go on! Try it out…"

Harry frowned and waved it quite fiercely. He channeled all of his strength into it and willed it to do what Professor Mcgonagall had done…

The potted plant resting on the doorway instantly burst aflame; at the same time, a loud _CRACK! _echoed through the room.

Ollivander watched, wide-eyed, as the wand split in two by the seams, releasing a mound of pent-up magic. Shelves were scattered, books tossed through the air; Professor Mcgonagall raised her wand and shrieked, "Finite Incantatem!"

Everything neatly rearranged itself. Harry watched the wand in wonderment. He'd felt a horrible sensation, as if forced to swallow a slug. "Mr. Ollivander? I don't think this is my wand…" he said, his voice shaky.

"Er… yes, of course…. I'll get a new one…" Turning, Ollivander produced a second oakwood case. "And please don't force any more magic through this one if it doesn't… want… to flow properly. It might crack the wand."

He didn't mention the impact of the cracked wand; only the most powerful of wizards could, by sheer force of will, crack a magical item in half. Harry studied the new wand in his hand; it was pitch black with tiny cylinders embedded through the sides. He waved it experimentally.

Nothing.

Ollivander laughed nervously. He'd been half-expecting the bookshelf to explode. "I'll have that back, if you please…"

He rummaged through the cabinet, his mind racing. The boy had rejected both prime choices of wands… what could possibly be compatible with him? No; certainly not; impossible…

He reached out to the top of the drawers and picked out a large, golden wand. Sweating slightly, he passed it to Harry.

The boy shook it experimentally; an instant whirlwind of energy filled the room. Harry glowed with a powerful, magical aura, emanating through the entire shop.

"Interesting…" Ollivander muttered. It was clear that the wand had chosen Harry. "Interesting… the wand in your hand is the brother of the wand given to a certain Tom Marvolo Riddle, the man who gave you that scar."

He pointed a quivering hand to Harry's forehead. "You-Know-Who did great things in his lifetime; horrible things, but great nonetheless. I think we can expect the same of you, Mr. Potter."

**Evening**

Harry was still having trouble believing the events of the previous afternoon. It was as if his entire life had been a puzzle with missing pieces, and Mcgonagall had filled in the gaps.

Of course he could 'teleport'! It's accidental apparition, something many young wizards do when placed under extreme stress. And turning a teacher's hair blue was one of the most basic of accidental transfiguration magic.

In all honesty, he should be laughing at himself. Believing that magic exists isn't like believing that the Patriots won the Super Bowl; magic changes one's fundamental world view about pretty much everything.

Mcgonagall had, tearily, explained of Harry's parents' unfortunate deaths at the hand of Lord Voldemort; he'd felt a deep pang of a very familiar emotion: pain. And anger. Deep, deep anger.

So this man was the reason he couldn't have a normal childhood! This man was the reason he'd been stuck with the Dursleys his whole life! The very thought changed his usually humorous demeanor into something much darker. It didn't feel _right _fundamentally that such a person should exist.

He had true power. Even in death, he could cause such heartache and pain. The mad bastard.

Mcgonagall, upon seeing the dangerous look on his face, quickly changed the topic and took him to Florian's ice cream shop. The usually sweet chocolate tasted bitter and metallic; like blood. He'd bitten his tongue, apparently. He couldn't care less.

Harry was very good at compartmentalizing information; he shoved the thoughts to one side to be dealt with later. No; now was not the time for emotional breakdown. Now was the time to fully appreciate what most of him believed to be a tangible, real, undiscovered, amazing world.

They'd gone straight to Gringotts, where Mcgonagall, intent on distracting him from his parents, had allowed him to make a 30 galleon withdrawal for his own personal devices. He'd spent it all on a mound of books.

He found it amazing that a wizard's starting education in magic began at the age of 11. Preposterous, that was! Children can _learn, _they weren't stupid like some adults firmly believed. Their immaturity sometimes overshadowed their displayed intellect, but maturity didn't determine intelligence. Take Harry, for instance. He'd been called brilliant, and he was still fairly immature. Leave it to adults to underestimate their greatest assets.

It was in this frame of mind that he tackled the massive mountain of books he'd brought. His memory was exceptional; his brain functioned in a strange way. Any event that happened to him was instantly imprinted onto his brain; it was extremely helpful when memorizing, say, books. Or study guides. Or test answer sheets.

He, in his spare time, shuffled through the books until he found psychology; flipping along, he found a chapter entitled, _Eidetic Memory_. He opened it and began reading.

_The eidetic memory is one of the rarest and most powerful forms of brain disorder in the world; not that it should be classified as a disorder. Any event, action, sound, taste, texture, or smell is instantly recorded in one's brain. _

_In other words, a super-buffed-up photographic memory. _

Harry had scoffed at this. This man… or woman… had a sense of humor. He flipped to the table of contents and read the chapter. _Eidetic Memory…. written by Dr. C Niel Demencha_. Harry smiled at this. He wondered how many people would understand the name; he doubted very many. People didn't pay much attention to anything, really, much less a name.

_Ah, the puns_.

He continued through the stack.

By midnight, he was still reading. The Dursleys had, in a strange convenience, gone on a business trip, leaving him with a sack of potatoes and a tattered blanket. Convenient for him, of course. If his 'family' found out about his books, they'd surely burn them in the fire. Perhaps even call in a priest to cleanse the house from the 'work of the devil', something they'd done before- on several occasions.

If there was one thing that Harry had gained from the Dursleys, it was a thick skin. He'd been called 'devil' and 'wierdo' so many times no that it naturally bounced off. He doubted much could hurt him emotionally; it wasn't like he had any real ties to anybody.

H*ll, if somebody captured the Dursleys and tortured them for ransom, he wouldn't pay the money. He'd probably grab a popcorn and put the tape on loop.

Speaking of the Dursleys… they were bound to be back any day now. Their scheduled return date was the day after tomorrow; but with Dudley messing about, it could be rescheduled to the week after next. It wasn't unheard of.

The time they'd visited Australia, Dudley had somehow goaded a peaceful, passive snake to attack him. He was stuck in the hospital for three days. The Dursleys had tried to sue, but they didn't have a leg to stand on. After all, Dudley had punched the snake first. It had simply retaliated.

Harry had laughed up a storm at the image of Dursley's fat fist punching a very surprised snake. This, of course, earned him a week grounded in his cupboard, or 'solitary confinement' as he knew it.

Ah, the good old days. A dark gleam sparked in Harry's emerald eyes. Those days would remain far, far behind him if he had a say in it.

Ever since his introduction to the magical world, his accidental magic had become more and more frequent. He'd even had some control over it, at times.

When a troublesome spider had landed on his book that night, he'd willed it to disappear- and disappear it did, in a shower of sparks and flame. If the Dursleys ever threatened him ever again, he'd be sure to send Dudley up in a bonfire. It'd take quite a long time to burn all that fat off, but it would be interesting, even enjoyable to see the boy squeal in fright.

He stopped himself. Where were these sadistic thoughts coming from? Certainly not his mind; he'd never think such strange things. Lifting a hand, he pressed his finger to his scar.

Pain instantly filled his forehead. Somebody had surely chopped his head in half; that was what it felt like, a horrible, ripping pain. Harry screamed and thrashed in his seat; he instinctively withdrew his hand. The pain faded. Interesting… why would his scar do that to him?

Harry closed his eyes and willed his magic to him. He felt tentative tendrils at first, then more and more; it merged into a thin strand of pure power. Harry smiled. _Ah, here's something I can work with_. It still felt strangely limiting, though; as if his body could give more, but was unwilling to.

_No matter_.

Flexing his magical muscles, he extended his reach through his entire body. Something instantly didn't feel…_right_. A dark, reddish haze centered around his forehead, glowing brighter and brighter until it reached his scar. Oh, god. His scar.

The very skin was tearing up in a supernova of crimson; Harry reached out and pressed his magic against his temple.

A horrible pain welled up inside his head; he kept his focus. With a steady hand, he ripped the pain from out his head.

The instant oppression instantly ceased. Harry gasped in amazement. His entire life, he'd felt a strange unease in his head; now that it was removed, he felt so much more free. It was as if a giant spike had been drilled into his head; now that it left, he felt… powerful.

The supernova of energy instantly flared to life. Harry gasped as it bounced left and right, struggling to escape his tight hold. It seemed almost a soul, even… no. Impossible. This little speck was surely too small to contain the human mind. And yet… it did. He could feel its emotions buried deep inside it, could feel its panic…

He reached out with his hand. The crimson star, now covered completely in his hands, spluttered inside. He watched in quiet fascination as the _thing _struggled to escape.

In a moment of utter madness, he took the orb and crushed it beneath his fingers.

A loud, shrieking voice suddenly filled the room; the supernova dulled and cracked into a thousand pieces. A deadly force rippled through the walls, sending Harry flying back a good ten feet; he hit the table and crumbled to the floor. He felt winded, the air having been knocked out of him.

The only thing that remained of the crimson flare in the center of the room was a mound of tiny ash. Harry blinked. Amazing. Did he do that?


	2. Chapter 2: Talent and Train Ride

**Chapter 2**

**A/N **

**Thanks to MageofMyth, Lubnah10, DZ2, and Undercover Operative for reviewing! **

The next day, the Dursleys still hadn't returned; Harry took advantage of their absence by poring over his numerous texts. Nothing said anything about nuances in the brain; so it must be particular to him. Or perhaps not; his books were very foggy about the idea of wandless, controlled magic altogether; this may very well be a new field of magic. The very thought made him very excited.

It wasn't that he wanted to take over the world. Too much work, really; and in his country, with him ruling, the world would obviously descend into anarchy.

No; he just wanted to wield a staff. Like Gandalf. Not for any particular reason, mind you, other than its power advantage over the conventional wand. It simply seemed… cooler. Nicer. Better to have. Not that he complained about his phoenix core wand; oh, no. This one was, undoubtedly, the most powerful weapon he'd ever grasped- and that included the Dursleys' German kitchen knife.

Ah, the Dursleys' kitchen knife… he'd once brained Aunt Marge's dog with it once; he'd gotten sentenced to a week in the cupboard. Ah, the good old days.

A loud tapping snapped him out of his reverie; he blinked to find Hedwig tapping rather impatiently on the windowsill.

"Yes, girl?" he cooed, hurriedly untying the thick parchment wrapped around her leg. The owl post system had taken some getting used to; there were so many flaws than Harry could count. Eventually, he'd had to settle with an Impervious charm and a Privacy Protection charm on his letters; he'd have preferred more formal, civilized methods of communication. Like passing notes. Or email.

Civilized to _him_, anyway. Notes and email certainly didn't require stamps. They were so much easier to handle.

If he ever became Prime Minister, he'd have to rectify quite a lot of illogical things in the Wizarding world.

He grasped the letter with both hands and tore it open; it bore no signature, but no inkling of Dark Magic either. It seemed almost… normal. Harry'd half-expected it to explode or something, given the things he'd seen, but this letter did nothing of the sort.

He flipped it open and squinted upon the bold, archaic runes inscribed onto the parchment.

He tapped his finger onto the paper. It instantly glowed an emerald green. He gasped as a ball of fierce light enveloped him, smashing and crushing everything around him. A tiny thread, a restricting thread, cracked under the pressure.

Power instantly surged to his fingertips. "Aha!" he screamed, exhilarated. A blast of energy escaped his palms and slammed into the wall, carving deep, angry scorch marks into the hard plastic.

Whatever the rune had done… he liked it. Something, a power barrier, it seemed, had been cracked. He turned it over. '_Harry Potter'_ was printed in large, shaky cursive letters under the sender's box. He laughed. This person had a sense of humor.

He didn't bother himself with those thoughts now. All he could think of was the colossal amount of unrestricted energy surging through his palms.

He let instinct carry him on; his limbs moved of their own volition down the staircase and into the living room. "HAHA!"

A bolt of free energy spiraled through the room and smashed into Dudley's computer screen, cracking it neatly in half.

"Oh… sh*t."

Perhaps letting unrestricted instinct settle his problems wasn't the smartest of ideas. The computer was damaged far beyond repair; the glass had caved in, shattering several cables.

A loud, grinding sound suddenly filled the house- the sound of the garage door opening. Harry swore- a loud, ugly sound. "SH*T!"

The universe must have some sort of vendetta against him. He could hear the Dursleys opening the door and marching in… he scrambled. Scrambled up the staircase, scrambled into his room. He kicked the door shut with a needless vigor. It reverberated through the house.

"We're back, you useless freak!" a voice shrieked from the doorway. "And we've- HOLY SH*T!"

They had, presumably, discovered the cracked computer screen. A loud wail suddenly filled the room; Harry looked out of his peephole to find Dudley crying near the stairs, holding the remains of his electronic. He rolled his eyes. Figures. The boy didn't cry a tear at his grandmother's funeral, but he bawls over a stupid computer.

The crying abruptly cut off. Harry could hear the loud footsteps coming up the staircase, could hear the frantic breathing-

A massive weight suddenly slammed into the door; Harry was thrown back as a fist ran through the breadth of the wooden structure. "HARRY, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SH*T!"

A massive kick sent the door sprawling off its hinges. Dudley stood over the threshold, his eyes murderous.

And Harry, acting on primal instinct, lashed out.

A massive bolt of energy collided with the large boy; he screamed as he was thrown against the wall.

"Dudders! DUDDERS!"

Harry paid no mind to the scrambling adults. His eyes glowed an intense, blinding blue; he made a fist, and the air copied his movement.

"DUDDERS!"

Dudley's eyes widened his windpipe was cut off; he struggled to take in breath, but could find no oxygen.

Pure nitrogen forced its way down his throat; he gasped as it filled his lungs…

He was choking. Choking on his own air.

His face turned a deep red; his eyes bulged even wider. Harry stepped up to him. "This is retribution for all those years of h*ll!"

A wide haymaker sent Dudley sprawling down the hill. Harry looked upon the Dursleys with anguished eyes. Reaching out his hands, he flicked his wrist…

The two instantly collapsed into unconsciousness. He closed his eyes…

And suddenly, he could _see_. Could see the consciousness, flickering absently in front of him… he reached out and took hold. With a firm force, he traced back the through their memories and crushed them, altered them, made them anew.

_Dudley had never had a computer. They'd come home happy- scratch that, they'd had a miserable vacation- and… and they'd had an epiphany. They'd treat Harry better now, as if he was actually a part of the family. _

He felt a tear slide down his cheek; he brushed it away. They'd regain consciousness soon enough. Nodding, he stalked up the staircase and into the guest room.

* * *

The next week with the Dursleys went surprisingly well. They, in their manipulated states, treated him as a human being- a permanent guest, as it were- and he was given all of the privileges Dudley enjoyed (except, of course, the lavishing gifts).

On the third day, he realized the flaw in his plan: the memories. Any skilled Legilimens would be instantly able to discern a fair amount of meddling there. He'd gone back and checked his handiwork; sure enough, there were a dozen glaring errors. He didn't blame himself; after all, he'd worked in a stress-induced rage.

Unknown to the Dursleys, he consistently modified their memories at every viable moment; he smoothed out brows, sharpened creases, added believability until they looked the very aspect of a human memory.

Satisfied, he'd turned his attention to his strange magic.

"Funny how I can _feel_ the magic inside, but I just can't control it…" Harry muttered, frowning. "It's almost as if I _have_ more magic, but simply can't use it. Strange…"

He closed his eyes, and, for the umpteenth time that day, flexed his inner core.

Nothing.

"Gah!" he screamed, frustrated. A spark suddenly raced from his palm to the table; it fizzled out against the chair.

Harry stared, anguished, at the mark. He could _feel_ the energy inside him… but how to draw on it? It was almost as if a strong mental barrier held it back.

_No matter. I've already enough power_.

He couldn't understand why he was straining himself; there was no point, really. If he continued his current pace of progress, he'd be neck-in-neck with the most proficient of 4th years by the end of the summer.

And yet…

Satisfaction never favored him with its warm caress. Something, a large chunk of him, demanded retribution for the death of his parents, demanded retribution for the mangling of his childhood.

The thoughts that he'd compartmentalized so well flooded back in a rush; he steeled himself. _It does no good to mourn the past. The only thing I can do now is to prepare for the future_.

And prepare he did. He'd read nearly every free second of the day, constantly gathering information. The Dursleys left him alone, for the most part, calling him only for dinner and lunch.

It was, in a way, bliss; for him, at least. No screaming, rock-chucking kids, no more running, no more hiding…

It would take some getting used to.

* * *

The days flew by at a prodigious pace; what seemed like days stretched out to months. In absolutely no time at all, September arrived; it was time for Harry to head for 'Hogwarts'.

He'd packed his bags and coerced the Dursleys into taking him on a 1-hour ride to the King's Cross station (which they, even in their manipulated states, still grumbled endlessly about).

He'd stared down at the station ticket and read the small words. "_Platform 9 ¾"_

"I'm sorry, where is this?" he asked, presenting the ticket to the guard. The man stared at it for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Platform 9 ¾? Is this some sort of joke? That doesn't exist, kid!"

Harry frowned.

"Huh."

He should've expected that the station would be unknown to muggles. It was stupid to ask one.

He strolled up between Platforms 9 and 10 and sat, rubbing his thumbs against his temple. It seemed he had more _control_ over his magic than the average wizard… Concentrating, he engaged his magical core. With a firm mental grip, he teased out a string of bound magic and scattered it through the area.

The part of his consciousness not focused on his task immediately picked up a group of redheads bustling about. They seemed to be purposefully enveloping him, as if asking him to ask for direction. No; he would figure this one out by himself.

His technique was a bit like echolocation; he could feel where his magic dispersed and where his magic penetrated the barrier. A large chunk of the outburst fled through the stone pillar of Platform 10. He casually stepped up to it and leaned.

Darkness enveloped him instantly; he stumbled forward through the mouth and into the lamplight.

Platform 9 ¾ was _huge_. Hundreds of people bustled about in large crowds, each struggling to board one massive, gold-and-red train. _The Hogwarts Express _was printed neatly atop the engine.

Th group of redheads suddenly made their way through the portal; Harry walked along casually. The group seemed to tail his movements. He made a left. The group inconspicuously barreled to the left. Strange…

And then it hit Harry. These were the same group that had enveloped him _outside _of the platform! They seemed determined to make contact with him (no doubt because he was the _Boy Who Lived_), and he wasn't going to give them that satisfaction.

Smirking, he stepped aboard the train and out of sight. To his vast disappointment, a redhead, no more than 12 years old, immediately followed.

_The word 'stalker' comes to mind. _

He, determined to lose him, wove in and out of the crowd and picked a compartment at random. He shut the door, making sure to make the barest of sound.

To his immense annoyance, the redhead waited not a foot from his compartment, whistling and humming nonchalantly- as if they were waiting for all of the other compartments to fill up.

He opened the door. "What do you want?"

He jumped. "Wha-what are you talking about, Har-" he caught himself.

"Oh, I'm just hanging around, you know… I didn't catch your name, my name's Ron…?" the boy said, quite uncertainly.

Harry laughed. "Great introduction, Ron."

Still laughing, he slammed the compartment door.

Not 5 minutes later, Ron peeked through the door frame. "Hi, can I sit here? The other compartments are full…"

Harry jumped up. "Really? Have you checked?"

"Er, yes. Can I sit with you?"

Harry frowned. Ron clearly knew who he was, and Harry didn't know what Ron meant to ask for his name.

'_He's bluffing'_

He could tell by Ron's fidgeting hands and his nervous tone of voice.

'_Call the bluff_'

"Oh. Alright; I'll go with you. Let's do a double check."

Ron's face instantly reddened. "I'm sure there's no need for that…" he muttered, shouldering his way into the compartment. "You'll let me sit here, right?"

Although not stated, there was a dangerous edge to his tone. Harry shrugged it off. "Sorry, Ron, I need some privacy. Let's do a double check for other compartments, shall we?"

Turning, he pushed the redhead out the door. The compartment directly opposite was empty.

"Oh. Funny how you checked all 998 other compartments but failed to check this one. The one directly opposite my compartment."

Ron blushed a deep red. "Yes, of course…"

Harry turned. The compartments adjacent to his were also empty.

"You didn't check these either, it seems."

"Er, I might've missed some…"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You are sweating. You are fidgeting nervously; I can tell you were bluffing. Your voice is uncertain, with a dangerous undertone. You failed to check several compartments, despite your assurance that you've checked them all. If I were you, and you were me, what would you deduce from these facts?"

"...that you have a new friend?"

Harry sighed. This one was especially thick. "You don't have to sit with me to prove you're worthy of becoming my friend. If I wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived, you wouldn't even be talking to me right now. No; you purposefully tailed me as to make contact and force a 'friendly' relationship."

Ron paled. "N-no! I would never do that! Never!"

"Then you're a liar. Leave me alone."

This last part came with a dangerous undertone; Ron got the message and hightailed it. Harry returned to his book, his emotionless mask giving no indication of their interaction. It wasn't worth getting frustrated over scum.

**A/N Another chapter gone by! :) **

**Believe it or not, the letter and the rune have some importance, but that won't be until far later. Please leave a review on your way out! :)**


	3. Chapter 3: Sorting and Letters

**A/N Thanks to all those who reviewed since last chapter! (Stormyfiredragon, Ariadne Venegas, jchangpa)**

Harry wasn't sure how or when he'd fallen asleep, but he did, eventually, curled up on the comfortable compartment seats. He didn't dream. He hadn't been able to dream, ever since the first night the Dursleys had beaten him.

He awoke to the sound of a loud voice over the intercom- "Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

For a moment, he thought it was Ron; the voice was almost as nasally. He yawned and stretched his cramped arms. As he reached out to his luggage, he caught a fleeting glimpse at the window.

_Oh, god. _

The sun had set completely over the horizon; everything glowed from a fluorescent light firmly implanted into the ceiling. How long had he been out?

He'd changed hours before; he didn't want to be caught out in case he'd fallen asleep. A wise decision, it seemed. He rubbed his tired eyes. This was, in truth, the most decent sleep he'd gotten in days.

He grabbed his books and stowed them away in a large bag, careful not to rip the covers. He'd charmed them to maximum protection, just in case some dunderhead came along and slobbered drool all over it. Highly unlikely, but possible.

The train had pulled to a complete stop now; the engine, usually roaring above conversation, quieted to nothing. He pulled open his compartment door. Hundreds of students were already swarming down the corridors; he simply followed the crowd out the door and into the moonlight.

"Firs' years! Firs' years!" a loud, hoarse voice shouted. A large, gangly form stood near the garden. His accent was so thick that Harry had trouble discerning his words. "Who's that?" he asked to nobody in particular.

"Oh, that?" a nasally voice answered. Harry sighed. Had this kid been stalking him? "That's Hagrid. He's the gamekeeper."

Harry turned to Ron. "What is your problem, Ron?"

The redhead frowned. "What do you mean? I'm giving helpful information."

Harry rolled his eyes and focused his attention back on Hagrid, who was now pointing wildly to the boats. The first years followed his finger, tentatively at first, then quicker and quicker.

Hagrid must have some experience in crowd control. The huge man grinned toothily. "Alrigh' get in your boats!"

He, in a test, walked to the very end of the boat pier. Ron tailed him.

Harry put one foot in boat #98; Ron did likewise. Annoyed now, Harry switched to #99, and Ron followed suit.

"Seriously, what is your problem?" Harry whispered, his eyes angry now. "Ron. Stop, or I'll be forced to hex you into oblivion."

"Alright, alright…" he muttered, choosing the boat right next to Harry. "I'll choose this one."

"No. Go far, far away, Ron. Out of eyesight. Or I may not be able to control the urge to send spells your way."

The redhead rolled his eyes and reluctantly moved to Boat #32. Finally, some breathing space.

He stretched out and relaxed…

"Hi, may we sit here?"

Harry looked up to see a group of 2nd year girls, both blushing furiously. "I'm indifferent…" he said, shrugging. They squealed. "But if you want to sit with me because I'm the 'Boy Who Lived' or whatever, I'd advise you to go far, far away. I don't associate with scragglers."

The two looked offended. "We'd never do that!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Then why did you choose to sit in this boat?"

"Because we wanted to make friends with you, alright?" the second girl murmured, exasperated. "Can't you take a hint?"

Harry frowned. "I'm sorry, is this normal female behavior?"

"You know what? Forget about it. If every single action we do is some kind of manipulation to you, that's fine with us. We'll go sit with Neville Longbottom instead."

Turning their noses high, they left for Boat #16.

"Alrigh', firs' years!" Hagrid bellowed. "Let's row!"

* * *

Harry couldn't stop contemplating the girls' words. Manipulation? Of course they'd been trying to manipulate him! It's just like friendship- an intangible and theoretical entanglement of nonsense. Friendship is a mutual contract to lift up each other; both parties was exactly what they'd said they'd tried to do… right? Make friends?

_Or powerful political allies_, a dark voice muttered in the back of his mind. He supposed it could be possible. If they were to run for a post in the Ministry of Magic, having the Boy-Who-Lived as a friend would be a wonderful asset.

He simply couldn't understand their tone. Were they stupid?

Socializing had never been his strong point, but if socializing was a complicated web of lies and trickery, he wanted out.

A sharp voice snapped him out of the reverie. The bank, which had seemed so far before, lay only a few meters away.

"Alrigh'! Mind your step!" Hagrid called. Nobody (except Ron, who had the nerve to try to take Neville down with him) fell into the Lake- a new achievement, according to Hagrid.

He'd cheerfully escorted the (mostly) dry students to the main hall. They filed in large lines to be sorted.

Yet through it all, he couldn't forget the girls' words. He ran it through his mind. Was there some sort of underlying message that he couldn't decipher?

So entangled was he in his thoughts that he almost missed his name getting called. Shaking himself, he ascended the marble staircase and plopped himself onto the wooden seat.

Instant silence filled the hall, one so complete that it would do _Silencio_ proud. The entire student population seemed to hold its breath as the Hat was fitted onto Harry's head.

_Hm… interesting mind…._

Harry gave a slight gasp. _Unlimited potential, too. Strong will to compliment the image… but where to put you? _

_You could be a great Gryffindor, you know; follow that route, and you'll be sure to achieve your goals. _

_Perhaps a Hufflepuff; you'll definitely get a high Ministry post, that's for sure. _

_Ravenclaw could grant you the wisdom and intelligence to do what you believe is right. _

_Slytherin… hm… in Slytherin, you could be great; powerful in every sense of the word. _

The hat was silent for a moment.

And then- "RAVENCLAW!"

The Ravenclaw table exploded in applause; Harry walked over and sat down beside two first year students he'd never met.

And, of course, the annoyance known as Ron needed to ruin the moment.

"Unfair! Unfair!" he screamed. The entire Gryffindor table took up the chant. "Unfair! Unfair!"

Dumbledore frowned. "Please quiet down, students; unless you want to prolong the time before the Feast…?"

The entire table instantly quieted down. Harry smirked. Gryffindors… they'd exchange the Boy-Who-Lived for a burger any day. He was quite glad the Hat didn't sort him there.

Dumbledore made his per-usual meaningless remarks; Harry yawned and focused his mind on etching a pattern on the wooden table. He nearly missed the 'Let the Feast Begin!' and shifted away; a massive bowl of punch landed where his hand had been.

Even feasts, it seemed, were hazardous at this school.

Stretching again, he dug in.

He finished his dinner well before anybody else; he'd never had a very large appetite. Yawning, he grabbed his fork and began drawing runes on the table… One moment, he was finishing up a rune. The next, his face lay pressed hard against the wood, drenched in water.

He looked up. A cackling, semi-translucent ghost passed by above, cackling madly. Harry glared. Why the h*ll did anybody employ a water balloon-dropping ghost at Hogwarts? He was genuinely starting to question the headmaster's sanity.

* * *

It was well after an hour later that they'd finally been called to leave for their dorms; Harry followed the prefects (he honestly couldn't be bothered to learn their names) up a spiral staircase and onto a narrow platform.

The painting, a proud, old sculpture of a tall eagle glanced apathetically upon the group before asking,

"What determines the size of a black hole?"

Harry rolled his eyes. Classic science question. This one had been used in too many trivia bowls he'd been forced to participate in to count.

"The Schwarzschild radius!" he called.

A 2-ton statue slid aside to reveal a large, warm Common room. The female prefect gave him an approving nod (what was her name? Spindle?) and they all made their way through into the room.

Harry took an instant liking to it. This room had everything- from books to sofas to bean bag chairs. A soft fire cackled gently in the 3 strategically positioned fireplaces littered about the room, giving a warm, homely feel.

The prefects explained everything (literally everything) about the rooms, including the 'proper' way to fold beds (which Harry rolled his eyes at). When they finally finished and stalked back to their respective rooms, the moon had long since risen and most- if not all- of the students were sleepy.

Harry waited patiently for them all to leave for bed. It took a while; quite a few were night owls, but before long all had left. He had the Common Room all to himself.

Pulling out his moleskin pouch, he swerved around and dumped his books onto the rug. He'd been anxious to train his magical core; he hadn't touched it for days, and he longed to feel the power again.

He closed his eyes and assumed the Lotus position.

If he had to guess, he'd estimate the amount of total power he could access at around 20%, give or take, and that had already given him a power beyond Legilimency- Telepathy. Concentrating, he reached out and took firm hold.

With a soft hand, he guided his magic out of his core and into his palms. Ah, he'd forgotten how it was like to have total control over his magic. Wands to channel magic? Preposterous! He realized the stupidity of the entire idea. The longer the channeling source, the firmer its material, the stronger his magic became. Staffs- they were ideal; but they presented a large problem- they would often drain too much energy. The user could, unconsciously, rip out all of the magic in his core and create a massive explosion.

He'd keep far away from _them_\- at least until he'd learned to fully control his magic.

The familiar tug suddenly filled his hands; he opened his eyes- they glowed a golden color. He grinned.

Raising his hand, he willed himself off the ground.

His legs rose at a snail's pace, his feet likewise until his entire body levitated above the earth.

This activity… it was strenuous. He could keep this up a few inches above the earth for perhaps an hour at best before having to dive back down. A hundred inches would be even more challenging.

He hated gravity sometimes.

Harry sighed; his eyes dimmed, and he fell back upon the Earth. If only he could draw on more energy…

That gave him a sudden idea. Didn't Ravenclaws have Time Turners?

He snuck around the back of the room and raced to the area with the 4th-years' backpacks. Taking care not to make any more noise than necessary, he picked out a silver-blue locket filled with sand.

What were the mechanics? One turn an hour, he seemed to remember.

This would do. He briefly remembered the rune he'd read about in his Runes textbook- was it _awaken? _It would certainly help him unlock his powers- to some extent, at least. Nodding, he grabbed his textbook and a spare pen. These would be all he needed.

With a careful hand, he drew the rune _awaken_; in the sender's box, with shaky handwriting, he wrote the words _Harry Potter_.

Flexing his fingers, he turned the Turner…

* * *

_**5 days earlier… **_

"Hedwig! Hedwig!"

The snowy white owl frowned. A rougher version of Harry stood before her in long, black robes, clutching a letter. Strange; she thought Harry was in his room! She swooped from her hunting trip and touched the floor. She cocked her head at him.

"I need you to take this… to myself."

Hedwig blinked, confused.

"Just bring it to my room!"

The bird nodded, slightly annoyed. She didn't stick out her foot.

Harry sighed. "_please_ bring it to my room…"

_The negatives of having a proud owl…_ he thought, tying the letter roughly to her leg. Hedwig hooted and flew off.

* * *

Harry felt a sudden surge of power; he knew his past self- or future self- had come through. The _awaken_ rune took several days to activate past the initial boost; he'd timed it almost exactly right.

Energy flooded his palms, but not nearly as much as he expected. He scrunched his eyebrows. Runes would only do so much for him, it seemed; the most it unlocked was a 2% energy flow.

Still massive, but not nearly as much as he'd hoped for.

An unknown force suddenly touched his mind; he recoiled and lashed out.

The nearest lamp suddenly burst into flames. Harry watched, awed, as the top of the bulb caught fire; it sparked and spluttered before being completely engulfed.

It took nearly 30 seconds for him to regain enough motor control to put out the fire. Interesting… he could influence objects around him now. The 2% certainly made a difference.

It seemed that the more power he unlocked, the more abilities he obtained. He ticked them off on his fingers.

_Telepathy, small telekinesis, small influence over matter._

He'd honestly have liked it if he could improve his telekinesis, he knew that he needed a staff at least to fully control it.

Not even Gandalf could channel full telekinesis with his hands, after all, but the grey-bearded wizard was famous for his extraordinary telekinetic powers.

Which led him to the conclusion that he needed a staff. Not a real staff, mind you; a 'booster', a bit of a crossover between wand and staff.

He licked his quill. There was only one maker of magical items capable of creating such a thing.

He grabbed a spare piece of parchment, checked it for Ollivander's , and began writing.

**A/N Not a lot happened in this chapter; just introductions to Hogwarts and ordering his weapon. Lessons begin next chapter, that should be fun to write :)**

**I will probably get most of the Ravenclaw riddles from Protobowl or some other website. **

**Along the way, Harry will learn the intricacies of socializing. Maybe. Please leave a review on your way out! **


	4. Chapter 4: Lessons and Waff

**A/N Thanks to DZ2, Stormyfiredragon, Undercover Operative, and Ariadne Venegas for reviewing either chapter 2 or 3! Please leave a review on the way out.**

**FYI, none of these chapters have been beta read. So there may be mistakes. Who am I kidding, there _will _be mistakes. **

**P.S. I highly recommend reading 'Among the Gemini Trees' by JAWorley; you'll find it on the Potions and Snitches website. It's a fantastic read. **

**Ollivander's Shop**

Ollivander, premier wandmaker of Great Britain, glanced over the messily written order and frowned. The sender, apparently wanted a wand/staff hybrid- a waff. Waff… just saying the name made him suppress a fit of giggles. He could imagine a tall, dark, serious-faced businessman clutching his 'waff' and screaming, "I shall strike you down with my waff! Bow before the might of my waff!"

It was in this humored state that he made his way back into the shop. His son (and technically intern), Jason, quickly picked up on his mood. "Have you won the lottery, old man?" he asked. Ollivander frowned. "One: I did not win the lottery, for your information. Two: How many times have I told you _not_ to call me old man!?"

Jason merely shrugged. "Just stating the facts. You haven't been this happy since your drunken strip tease."

"I thought we had an agreement not to mention that!"

Jason shrugged again. "So, what amazing thing happened? You haven't smiled for a year, three months, two days, and twenty-two hours."

Ollivander shot him a glare. "Nothing. Nothing happened. Just this order form."

He shoved it at his intern. Jason was lazy, smart alecky, and cocky. If not for his excellent wand-making skill (superior to even Ollivander, but he'd never admit it) he'd have kicked the boy out long ago- even if said boy was his own son.

"Uh-huh. A waff. Okay. I can do it."

Ollivander glared at him, his eyes wide with disbelief. "This doesn't have anything to do with you! I'm making it; this order requires the most precise hands…"

Whistling and cheerfully ignoring Ollivander, Jason strolled to the back of the shop. He appeared several moments later carrying a large, thin, stark-white spiraling stick. "Wha-wha-wha?" Ollivander stuttered.

Jason grinned. "I've been experimenting for years on this, old man! I had a perfected waff lying in the storage room."

It took nearly half a minute for Ollivander to gain enough motor control to step up and smack Jason over the side of the face.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous-"

The boy grimaced. "Of course. Do you remember the disappearing unicorn-hair tragedy of '06?"

Ollivander's tone grew suddenly quiet. Dangerously quiet. "Yes. The stack cost me 500 galleons- nearly bankrupted the shop!"

Jason grinned cheekily. "I used them all to forge this staff!"

The old wandmaker was beyond livid. "YOU DID WHAT?!"

Cheerfully whistling, Jason wrapped the waff in charmed bubble wrap and tied it to the nearest owl's leg. He turned to find a red-faced, outraged Ollivander before him. "Oh, come now, dad. I'm your own son! You can't hurt me!"

Authorities found a shocked Jason the next morning hanging from the clock tower, an inch from the razor-sharp spike, suspended and wrapped in mounds upon mounds of bubble wrap. For good measure, Ollivander also drew a d*ck on his head. Served him right.

* * *

**Hogwarts**

To his pleasant surprise, Harry found the waff at near dawn; an owl, a tired owl, flew it in through his dorm window. He'd just woken up and yawned when a package the size of a table leg burst through and smacked him upside the head. Groaning, he'd opened it to find a beautifully crafted, stark white waff. He smiled. Brilliant.

The waff had the properties of a staff, but the size of a wand- making it superior to both staffs and wands. The small problem was that the waff drew magic in the style of the wand and the staff combined; three hours of use could completely drain an adequately powerful first-year. But Harry was no adequately powerful first-year. He'd estimate his magical ability to be about 3 times the average first-year; and his natural magical regen would certainly replenish his reserves before the waff could drain him.

He'd only learned of the _magical regen_ a few nights ago at the Dursleys while browsing through a mound of books relating or pertaining to magical cores. Apparently, every wizard had a natural regeneration, hence why one could never truly _run out_ of energy for spells. If the core reached a low, the regen would draw on the user's energies to replenish the core's powers- hence why not many chose to use the waff. After a mere hour, most would be at near exhaustion; at two, the average grown wizard would be exceptionally sleepy.

The problem didn't affect Harry simply because Harry's magical core, he'd found out, was much stronger than the average core. _His_ core, apparently, had an insane magical regen- allowing him to power a staff.

A small groan filled the air, and Harry snapped back to the present. His house was waking.

He'd returned the Time Turner nearly 3 hours later to Cho Chang's backpack. Funnily enough, Cho was one of the girls who'd tried to sit with him on the boat. Small world.

It was sad that he learned most of his house's names by glancing on their backpacks' name tags, but he did what he had to do. He didn't want to be caught out as the 'inconsiderate fool' who didn't even take the time to learn his acquaintances' names.

Another groan filled the air- this time from the opposite dormitory. So apparently the girls were waking, too. Interesting.

He slept in his school robes (he didn't bring pyjamas); so dressing wasn't an issue for him. Brushing his teeth, he made his way to the common room. He was the first one down.

Taking a deep breath, he sighed. He loved the mornings- nobody was up, and fresh air wafted through the halls. Two massive plusses. Grabbing his waff (which was so small it could honestly pass for a wand), he made his way down several staircases and down to the Hall.

To his immense surprise, there was already somebody there.

A small, bushy-haired girl sat alone at the stone tables of Gryffindor. "So you're up too, huh?"

She flinched, then quickly collected herself. "Er- yes. You're Harry Potter, right?"

Harry grimaced. This time, however, he reserved judgement. Perhaps Cho had been right at the lake- maybe not everybody was a manipulative bastard. He gave this girl the benefit of the doubt.

"Yes." he watched warily for her reaction. To his surprise, she merely grinned. "I've read about you alot, you know."

"Ah. So you've heard about how my parents were brutally murdered trying to save me?"

The grin slid abruptly from her face. "I'm sorry. It must be hard to be famous for something you don't even remember doing- and something you should probably be ashamed of."

Harry nodded. _Here_ was somebody who understood him! "It is, it really is. People constantly tell me, 'you're the savior!'. I don't give a f*ck if I'm anybody savior. I just want to be normal. To have parents, really."

He suddenly laughed. "Two minutes, and I'm practically telling you my life's story."

The girl laughed with him.

"Sorry, I never caught your name…?"

"Hermione. Hermione Granger."

* * *

Breakfast passed by without much event. He hadn't expected to receive anything, but he was pleasantly surprised to find a cookie land on his table. It looked home-baked; a small, red-printed letter lay beneath it. 'A secret admirer' it read.

He closed his eyes. No doubt this 'secret admirer' would be scanning him, watching for his reaction.

Time to draw on his magical core.

He teased out a string of magic and scattered them across the tables. They clung to whatever they touched, forming a solid shell of magic- something Harry could _see_ without the use of his eyes. An image, a magically constructed image, built itself in his mind.

He could suddenly see the entire hall covered in its shell of magic. Excellent.

Quickly scanning the tables, me made out several forms watching him closely. The only one he recognized was Cho Chang. Why would Cho be staring at him?

For the benefit of whichever 'secret admirer' he split his face into a grin and hurriedly finished the cookie. The bell tolled; all of the students stood and exited the Hall.

He couldn't help but overhear the awed conversation around him-

"Harry Potter! _The _Harry Potter! He's here!"

"Are you kidding me? The Chosen One?!"

"Insane, innit?! I mean, he killed the Dark Lord!"

Grimacing, he quickened his pace. With one hand, he reached to his forehead. He tapped his waff to his ear and quickly performed the disillusionment charm.

He was gone in an instant. Shuffling through the crowd, he made his way to his first class- DADA.

Instantly he was hit with the smell of rotting garlic. Wrinkling his nostrils, he dismissed the disillusionment charm and picked the seat in the back row, farthest from the horrible smell. A teacher, a turban-clad teacher was hurriedly shuffling through notes. At the sight of Harry, he nearly dropped his folder in fright.

"C-can it b-be?" he muttered, his eyes wide. "H-Harry P-p-Potter?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I am Harry, sir. Is there something you require of me?"

The professor, for whatever reason, flinched. "N-no… er…"

The rest of the hall suddenly swarmed into the room, and Quirrell found twenty pairs of eyes staring at him. Clearing his throat, clearly uncomfortable, he began his lesson.

This was, by far, the most unqualified teacher he'd ever met. He taught little of anything important, really, and advised garlic to ward of vampires. Garlic! Harry found himself resolving to read and quiz himself on the DADA textbook; this teacher taught a whole bunch of nothing.

The next class, herbology, went better; Neville, a shy, quiet boy, seemed to excel in the class- shopping through his roots with lightning speed. Harry, who was usually top of every class, beat him by mere seconds. After class, he applauded the boy- who blushed and muttered, "Thanks…"

Ron was nowhere to be found- a welcome relief. They shared a single class together, Potions- which was exactly where he was headed to now. He hoped that the redhead would sit as far away as possible; but, for some reason, Ron was still intent on making 'friends' with him.

Harry found himself idly wondering how much skin an _incendio_ could burn off before the teacher noticed and put the fire out.

Speaking of teacher…

"Potter…"

His eyes snapped to the batlike man in the front of the room. "Our new… celebrity…"

Snape's eyes flashed. "Tell me, Potter, which potion is made when you add the powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry answered almost immediately. "You get a potion called the Draught of Living Death, sir."

"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Harry racked his memory. This was a question from a third year textbook; Snape clearly didn't expect him to know it. He was beginning to hate this professor more and more.

"They are the same plant sir, found in swamp and forest biomes. First discovered in 1562 by Merlin the Great, they are used in several potions pertaining to drowsiness and dizziness. Muggle botanists call it aconite."

Snape looked taken aback; Harry grinned internally. He wasn't about to allow some bully of a teacher make a fool out of him.

_Take that, you overgrown bat! _

"Well… WHY AREN'T YOU ALL TAKING NOTES?!" he suddenly roared, making everybody jump. The scribbling of pens soon filled the room. He stalked up to the edge of the table and leaned over Harry, his prominent, greasy nose nearly touching Harry's face. "This isn't over, Potter!"

And then he left, gliding through the room, as if nothing had happened. Harry raised an eyebrow. His expression seemed to say, _Bring it on, old man!_

* * *

Nothing happened, for the most part, in the rest of the classes. The teachers spewed out information he already knew; he quickly found Binns the most boring teacher in all of Hogwarts. He'd taken to sleeping on the desk during class; the old ghost didn't even notice.

He supposed Charms and Transfiguration were fairly interesting. They were taught by competent teachers (finally!). Mcgonagall was an interesting woman; she didn't bat an eye when Harry transfigured his match to a needle with the barest of effort on his first try. "Good, Mr. Potter." she'd said. "Ten points to Ravenclaw. Here's another needle, do it again."

Harry had obliged.

"Hm…" Mcgonagall muttered. "I shall have to talk to Dumbledore about this…"

She said nothing on the matter throughout the rest of the class.

Flitwick was an amazing teacher; his style was one Harry truly appreciated. When Harry had performed the _Wingardium Leviosa_ spell on his first attempt, he'd gone as far as to applaud. He also gave the same cryptic remarks: "I'll have to speak to Dumbledore about this…" before dismissing Harry to the library.

All in all, Harry liked Hogwarts and its classes- if he discounted Snape.

It was late afternoon when Mcgonagall's and Flitwick's cryptic remarks finally began to make sense.

The two teachers had found him lounging by the Great Lake under an apple tree, reading a large book.

"Harry…" Mcgonagall began. "We're considering moving you up to a year three Transfigurations class." Upon seeing Harry's joyful face, her tone grew sharp. "Now don't get a filled head, young man! Year three is much tougher than year one, with much harder material."

Harry had simply nodded. "That's fine. I've memorized most of the first half of the second book, anyway."

Mcgonagall had sniffed in astonishment at this.

Flitwick then offered him much of the same deal, except with fourth-year charms- something Harry accepted almost immediately.

"Alright, Harry. You are to retrieve your new schedule at the front office tomorrow."

With that, they'd left.

Already moved up on the first day of school! A very smug Harry Potter made his way back across the lawn and to the Great Hall for dinner.

**A/N Please leave a review on the way out! Updates are daily because of a school break; they may come a little slower starting tomorrow. **


	5. Chapter 5: Wizard's Duel

**Chapter 5**

**A/N Note: This has not been beta'd, and I try to keep the mistakes as few as possible- but there will always be some.**

**Thanks to DZ2, WhiteElfElder, Darkest Magic, Morelyn, Daithi4377, Yuki no Sabaku, and a bunch of guests for reviewing! **

**I try to keep the updates as daily as possible. **

_Hogwarts Dungeons: First Teacher Meeting_

Albus Dumbledore stared hard at the painting on the wall, his mind wandering. Harry Potter was here this year… definitely interesting. He couldn't make any assumptions about the boy yet; better to hear the teachers out.

Two pairs of feet strolled into the room; Dumbledore turned. He honestly didn't need to. He already knew who they were. "Have you done as I asked?"

"Of course, Dumbledore. Of course." Flitwick said, bowing his head respectfully.

The headmaster nodded, satisfied. "Everything done is, of course, a test. We'd be fools to move up a student, no matter how intelligent he is, in the first day of school"

Nods all around. "Good; I'm glad you understand. Anything to report on students? Pomona, let's start with you. Any shining stars?"

Professor Sprout puffed herself up. "Of course. The Potter boy and Longbottom are exceptionally talented…"

Snape, at the end of the table, sneered at this, muttering under his breath. Pomona gave him a look that could cow a lion before continuing: "And both are naturals at herbology; Potter, though, has most of his talent from memorization and precision. Neville is more of a natural."

Mcgonagall raised an eyebrow. "I was about to report the exact opposite, actually…" she muttered. "He is a whiz at transfigurations, but he clearly hasn't read as much as the Granger girl- he just feels it by heart."

Snape scoffed again. "Feels it by heart? He's as greedy, arrogant, and pig-like as his father before him! You're all blinded by the 'Boy-Who-Lived' nonsense that you fail to see the bigger picture!"

At this, Flitwick glared. "Severus, watch your tongue. I won't have you insulting students from my house."

He turned to Dumbledore. "I find similar things; though Mrs. Granger shines in my class. Harry is a close second, though; he's got his mother's brains- and a tad bit more, it seems."

Dumbledore nodded, satisfied. He turned once more to the mural on the wall. "Alright. Thank you for your views. I won't trouble you with my presence any longer."

They all nodded respectfully before bustling out the door- all except Snape, of course, who worked in the meeting room. He stalked up to Dumbledore. "Albus, I wouldn't trust the boy if I were you. He's headstrong, arrogant, foolish… an image of his father. The world couldn't have a more unfit Chosen of the prophecy."

Still sneering, he returned to his desk.

Dumbledore contemplated the teachers' words. Their views were interesting… everybody seemed to think that Harry was exceptionally talented- all except for Snape and Quirrel. Snape's word he took with a pint of salt; the man clearly allowed his anger to cover his eyes.

Quirrell, on the other hand, had left the school hurriedly right after his classes were over. He'd bustled quickly into the Forbidden Forest, shrieking, "I-I've got an important m-meeting to attend!" He couldn't give his views even if he wanted to.

Ah, Quirrell. Dumbledore's eyes glinted. He'd seemed such a confident young man when he first arrived at Hogwarts. It was just Dumbledore's luck that the moment he returns, he's a crazy, turban-donning, stuttering maniac.

Sighing, he buried his face in his hands.

Fudge had, for the thousandth time, sent him yet another letter requesting to meet the 'Boy-Who-Lived', and Dumbledore, for the thousandth time, had written back kindly before chucking the letter into the fire.

Somebody would have to put a leash on Fudge, definitely. Perhaps he could have Shacklebolt talk some sense into him.

'Sense' of course, being Dumbledore's viewpoint. Dumbledore was a funny man; strictly light of course, but his intellect rose so high above the average man that he considered all those around him to be nothing more than gerbils, creatures he could utilize in his plans for the Greater Good.

He tried to maintain a strong sense of morality, but when said morality was instilled by babbling do-gooders with no understanding of anything at all, he felt himself lose hope in humanity.

Or at least, other humans. He still had complete faith in himself. His brain hadn't failed him yet, and he didn't expect it to- at least not anytime soon.

* * *

Harry hardly felt the class change; if anything, the courses were now _easier_. He loved the feeling of superiority, the looks of astonishment he got when he surpassed his older peers. The looks on their faces were worth nothing less than gold.

He soon fell into a routine- go to classes, take the classes, eat, piss Snape off, piss Snape off even more, eat, wait for others to go to bed, practice magic, sleep.

He kept it fairly regular; so regular that the days seemed to fly by. Every day started to become indistinguishable from the next; before he could register it, a month had gone by. And then the only serious altercations came by.

Professor Quirrell began calling in sick. Harry didn't know why; he just did. Substitutes became commonplace in the DADA classroom; in all honesty, Harry felt his lessons had _improved_. At least the substitutes had some vague idea of how to teach- and that was much better than Quirrell's useless speeches.

There was one boy in particular he kept an eye on. Draco Malfoy. The kid was a snake.

He'd approached Harry three days into the first week; and by the sight of him, Harry could tell Draco was bad news. Rich? Check. Aristocratic? Check. Pompous? Check.

This child had no use for friends. He _did_ have use for powerful political allies, however. When Harry firmly rebuffed him, Draco instantly flew into a rage. He seemed quite spoiled; Harry's friendship was the one thing he couldn't get. And Harry had no intention of letting him, or any pompous brat, take his friendship so easily.

Friendship was not trash to be tossed around; friendship was a _gift_. A valuable gift- and these people didn't seem to be able to appreciate such things.

Friends were allies, he'd quickly learned. In Hogwarts, apparently, friends were more than mutually benefitting parties. There were many different and complex levels of it.

It made his head spin. He resolved to get a psychology textbook sometime soon.

* * *

"Potter!" a sharp voice barked. Harry turned swiftly around and cursed. Ron Weasley stood in a single file behind Draco Malfoy; Harry smirked at this. If he couldn't become a friend of Harry, he'd become the next best thing- a servant of Draco. Ron caught his glance and smirked, sticking his nose high.

"I challenge you to a wizard's duel!"

Harry cursed inwardly. He was sitting, quite calm, at the breakfast table; the entire hall sat in wide ranges, all eating. By bringing up the matter at breakfast, Harry would be forced to fight Draco; otherwise, he'd look like a coward.

A fierce gaze bored through the side of his head; Harry turned to find Dumbledore frowning upon the three.

"Draco? I accept."

The blonde boy's smile widened at this. "Alright. Dueling room, 12:00 A.M.-"

"Hold it."

Dumbledore's gravely voice rang through the hall; chatter instantly ceased.

"A wizard's duel, you say?" he murmured, his piercing eyes flashing. "Very well. It shall be arranged. Professor Quirrell, kindly clear out a time-space for a wizard's duel between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy at, let us say, 3:00 P.M.?"

Harry frowned. What was the man playing at, organizing his duels? As far as he knew, dueling among enemies in itself was outlawed; yet this man was making an exception. Why?

Draco, across the table, was having similar thoughts. What did Dumbledore intend by doing this?

"I trust you shall both show up…?" Dumbledore boomed, glancing pointedly at them. Draco hurriedly nodded, while Harry gave a small start of the head. Satisfied, Dumbledore returned to his meal.

Harry gave Draco one last piercing glare before returning to his plate and pondering Dumbledore's intentions.

* * *

The rest of the day passed by, it felt like, within mere minutes; before long, 2:40 had arrived. It was time for the wizard's duel. Shrugging himself, Harry walked off in search for Neville. He found the boy cramming desperately for the Herbology exam in the library. "Neville…"

The boy, still staring intently at the paper, gave a start. "Geez, Harry!" he muttered. "Nearly gave me a heart attack."

"You know about the wizard's duel this afternoon, I assume?"

"Of course. The entire hall knows."

"Alright. Will you be my second?"

Neville froze at this. Small tears appeared at the corners of his eye; he brushed it off with the back of his hand. Harry frowned. "I'm sorry, is something the matter?"

"No; no. My grandmother… she… never mind. I'll… sure. I'll be your second."

Harry grinned. "Great! I'll see you in the dueling chambers in… oh, about 20 minutes."

"20 minutes?! Is it already 2:40?" he glanced at the clock and gulped. "Alright, I'll be there."

* * *

Nearly ¼ of the entire school watched with bated breath as the two duelers, followed by their seconds, entered the arena. It was nothing much, mind you; a simple boxer's arena coated in protective spells. But it could've been crafted from gold, and nobody would've paid any attention. This was the most fun thing that had happened since the beginning of the year. Everybody was anxious to see how things went; after all, scarcely a soul hadn't heard of Flitwick and Mcgonagall's appraising comments of Harry's skill.

It was commonplace for wizards to perform 'warm ups'; they were really intimidation tactics for their opponents. Draco, sneering, conjured up a wine goblet from thin air. He concentrated, muttering a deluge of spells.

For nearly half a minute, nothing happened.

_Crack._

The entire hall (mostly, anyway) watched in amazement as a seam spread along the outsides, curving inward in a spiral as it sliced the goblet into ten thin strands. Draco bowed; everybody clapped.

Now it was Harry's turn. He felt the eyes of the entire hall slide on him as he held out his waff, praying to high heaven he'd get this correct. He held out his hand and urged his magic to him.

A spark of flame lit his palms; it hovered in mid-air, burning on no fuel, glowing blisteringly brightly. He closed his hand over the top of the fireball; it extinguished. Oohs and Aahs filled the air.

Draco looked taken aback; Ron looked beyond terrified.

"Now, we duel."

Draco composed his face into an emotionless mask; Ron was not quite so successful. It took three elbows from Draco before Ron was able to assume what could barely be

recognizable as a fighting stance. He looked like he wanted to run, but clearly couldn't

do that; not with his reputation at stake- or whatever shred he had left of his reputation.

He pulled out his wand, his hands trembling. Neville did likewise.

"B-begin!"

No sooner had Quirrell announced the word that beams of light began flying through the air. Several scarlet beams struck the ceilings and windows and… did absolutely nothing. Harry grinned.

A spell only had power if the user granted it power; Ron and Draco still didn't, or couldn't appreciate this fact.

Harry, meanwhile, watched in amusement as they struck the floor beneath him. He felt the magic swerving to strike him; but it was so weak it wouldn't even cause a bruise.

It was hilarious in a way. Neville, who'd been struck by five already, shook his head, dazed. The stunners had done absolutely nothing.

Draco was still shoving his wand about and screaming spells at random, spittle flying from the corner of his mouth.

_Time to put an end to this blubbering fool_.

He raised his waff; a beam of brilliant light blossomed about the Hall, forming a shield several meters in diameter. Ancient runes flitted about the light, throwing back all the spells that threatened the blockade's integrity.

Harry grinned. Foolish boys.

Ron nearly fell over at the sight of the shield; with a startled hand, he screamed, "EAT SLUGS!"

He promptly fell over, choking on what looked like giant sponges. Harry laughed again.

Draco finally realized exactly how much damage his 'attacks' were doing; he threw his wand to the ground.

"Professor Quirrell?" he called. "My wand is defective. Can we call off the duel?"

This was greeted by a massive 'boo!' from the audience; before Quirrell could respond, Harry lashed out. He stretched the strands of magic thin and bloated the shield outward, completely submerging Draco under layers and layers of magic. The boy gasped, startled, as a thick cocoon covered his head entirely.

"Do you submit?" Harry hissed. Draco nodded, his eyes wide with fright. "Yes- yes- just let me out of here!" he sounded as if he was speaking through water. Harry, nodding, waved his waff; the magic released Draco, who fell to the floor, gasping for air.

Ron, who'd seen his partner's fate, backed up entirely against the wall. A strand of magic effortlessly pulled him back to the fray; Dumbledore gave him a pointed look. Ron's face filled with utter desperation.

"Noxa!"

It was the only spell he could think of. He'd used it countless times to kill worms and spiders when his parents weren't looking; it became a failsafe spell of sorts. Whenever under extreme duress, he'd pull it out- and everything would be resolved. It was a thoughtless action, a reflexive action.

Harry watched in horror as the pulse of emerald light raced to Neville…

Diverting his focus from Draco, Harry inserted a thick wall of magic between Neville and the curse; to his surprise, it dissipated the curse entirely.

"RON WEASLEY!" Dumbledore roared, his eyes filled with rage. "Come with me to my office. Now."

The boy looked pale. "No- please, please, my mum will send me a Howler-"

Dumbledore frowned. "Come with me."

Grabbing Ron roughly by the elbows, he dragged him from the Hall- quite forcefully.

"Noxa!" a scratchy voice shrieked from the hallway.

Harry felt a cold hand clutch his heart; had Dumbledore harmed Ron? Then logic kicked in. No; the voice was shrill and childish. No doubt Ron was trying to free himself from punishment; the boy only had thought for himself.

The green light flashed a dark scarlet, indicating it struck the intended target; but Dumbledore merely laughed. The sound echoed from the hallway to the room. "A harming curse has no potential unless you _give_ it power; and at your age, you have no energy to give. The most you could do is give me a nosebleed!"

Harry nodded. Of course. That was why it had been so easy to deflect the curse- it held no real power at all.

A shrill scream suddenly filled the hall, as well as an intermittent wailing. The voice grew softer and softer until it disappeared entirely into the distance.

Certain of the Headmaster's absence, the entire Hall began to whisper furiously.

"The boy! He-he!"

"Harry blocked it! Harry, Harry Potter!"

"Spectacular!"

"What was Ron thinking, the idiot?"

This final remark was Harry's parting words to Neville as they left the dueling arena. He would get punished, of course; although he could say he _knew_ it wasn't going to kill somebody, he was simply trying to incapacitate- but that was like holding a knife and fighting with its flat side.

* * *

The harming curse, _noxa_, had been the unofficial fourth Unforgivable; it would, given enough strength, be harsh enough to break half the bones in the body. Hence why Dumbledore, right after the match, had given Ron a stern talking-to and had owled his parents immediately.

A very pale Ron made his way to the Breakfast table the next morning, and the morning after that- not at all. They received the news that he'd been suspended for 4 months- something Harry felt overjoyed at hearing.


End file.
